


I Was Never Gonna Be Easy

by greywing (ctrlx)



Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ctrlx/pseuds/greywing
Summary: Theodora Crain vignettes following the finale.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I finished watching Netflix's "The Haunting of Hill House," I had hoped I'd put together a post-series fic, but all I ever managed were a few scattered vignettes that I posted to tumblr. But I do like the vignettes and so am archiving them here.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Silence buzzed across the line.

"How are you?" asked Trish, tone unsure but careful, having waited for a lead-in that didn't come.

"I'm . . . okay," supplied Theo.

"That's good," responded Trish, voice projecting warm through the electronics. "I'm glad to hear it."

Silence. Theo passed her hand over her hair as if it weren't already pulled tightly back.

"I just," started Theo, "wanted to thank you for coming to the funeral. That was . . . really thoughtful of you."

"Okay. You're welcome."

"I should have said that . . . sooner. It's just that I . . . didn't expect to see you there."

Theo could almost hear a nod on the other side.

"Maybe I should have called first," Trish said, hesitant. "But I wasn't sure . . . I could have called you."

"So you just showed up," Theo said, sharper than she should have, sharper than she could stop her tongue from lashing.

Trish chuckled, curt. She said, almost like a sigh, in a manner that seemed to cut in all directions, "Yeah."

Theo bit her lip. "I didn't mean—what I'm trying to say is that I don't deal well with . . ." She groped for a lenient turn of phrase.

Why did she even need a lenient turn of phrase?

"People?" suggested Trish.

It almost sounded teasing.

Theo bowed her head over the desk, startled into a shit-eating grin. "Yeah. People."

There was a soft sound that may have been a chuckle, but nothing followed and dead air filled Theo's ear.

"Hey," Trish said into Theo's failure to recover the conversation, tone urgent, "I'm glad you called, but I have a meeting with my advisor—"

"Oh, yeah, of course."

"—was there something you needed?"

Theo hesitated.

Trish's voice lowered. "This isn't a booty call, is it? It's noon."

To her surprise, Theo laughed. "No. I, uh, wanted to ask if you . . . if you'd like to get dinner sometime. Or lunch." For the time being, lunches at the Harris household were a thing of the past. Theo had ventured back into the Harris residence for dinner only the night before at Shirley's terse command to attend. Allie had beamed at Theo's arrival with such exuberance that Theo suspected her return to the Harris table had been orchestrated by her niece rather than any overture of forgiveness. Certainly Shirley had not spared Theo much more than a slant-eyed greeting and cursory requests. If Allie had been asking questions, such tense gatherings would probably raise new ones. "My lunch breaks are . . . pretty generous."

She thought maybe she heard a smile in Trish's voice. "Yeah. Sure. When?"

Theo spun a pen on her desk. "When's good for you?"

"Can I get back to you on that?" asked Trish.

"Yeah," Theo said. "Yeah. You can—you can call me."

"Alright, I'll call you." That was definitely sounding like a smile. "Or text, if that's okay."

Theo shook her head. "Text is fine." A smile possessed Theo's mouth. "Good luck with your meeting."

Trish groaned. "Thanks, but I need more than luck, I need twenty more hours in a day. 'Kay, I gotta go. Bye."

"Bye."

Theo put her phone down thoughtfully.

That wasn't so bad? Yeah? Yeah. That wasn't so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

"Aunt Theo?"

"Yeah, Allie?"

Allie dropped her gaze and concentrated hard on her glass of milk. They were alone at the dining table, sitting side by side. Theo leaned over to try to get a look at her niece's face. Gathering herself to speak, Allie looked at Theo in sideways reluctance.

"Do you not like us anymore?"

Theo's gut tensed. "What do you mean? Of course I still like you."

Distress twisted Allie's features. "Then why don't you come over as much anymore?"

Ah. Theo resisted the urge to bite her lip. How to frame the truth?

Theo took a deep breath. "Do you remember that time that you knocked down Jayden's art project and it broke and he got really upset?"

Allie nodded.

"He was upset, wasn't he? For a while, he didn't talk to you."

Allie nodded, echoes of guilt and fear at the edges of her mouth and eyes.

Theo sighed. "I did something like that to your mom—something that hurt her feelings. She's upset with me, so she doesn't want to see me a lot right now."

Allie frowned. "Why don't you just say you're sorry?"

Theo smiled, biting back a chuckle. "When you said sorry to Jayden, did he forgive you right away?"

Allie shook her head.

"He needed a little time, right?" Theo nodded wistfully. "Your mom needs time, too."

Allie studied her. "Did you do something very bad?"

Theo hesitated then gave a curt nod.

Allie absorbed the information. "Was it an accident?"

"Yes and no," Theo said. "I did something I shouldn't have that maybe I didn't mean to do, but I still did it and what I did wasn't right."

Allie appeared troubled. "Do you love Mommy?"

A tight band stretched across Theo's chest. She nodded. "I love your mom. And you. Very much."

"So you're not going to go away?" Allie asked.

Theo shook her head. "No, I won't. Not if it's my choice."

"But if Mommy doesn't forgive you, then you have to go away?"

Theo's lips thinned into a line. "I don't know."

"Would it help if I told Mommy that I don't want you to go?"

Theo smiled fondly. "I don't know. But I think this might be something your mom and I have to work through ourselves."

Allie looked a bit crestfallen.

Theo leaned over to catch Allie's eyes. "I'll always be here for you, Allie. Whatever happens between your mom and me."

Allie eyed her warily. "Promise?"

Theo nodded. "Promise."

Allie raised her hand. "Pinkie swear?"

Theo smiled, linked her pinkie through Allie's, and gave it a firm shake. "Pinkie swear."

Allie beamed.

Theo meant it.


	3. Chapter 3

They stared at one another, Theo wide-eyed with something akin to panic, Trish frozen in startlement and uncertainty.

“Are you okay?” Trish asked.

Theo smoothed her blouse and took a deep breath. “Don’t—don’t touch me like that.”

“. . . Like what?”

“Like that. Without warning.”

“. . . Okay.”

Theo shook her head, crossed her arms, and turned away, salvaging her composure.

“. . . It’s not really about being a germaphobe, is it?” Trish ventured. Theo looked at Trish out of the corner of her eye. “I mean, you don’t wash your hands all the time. You don’t even carry around hand sanitizer. It’s something else, right? Is it . . . sensory issues?”

“I just . . . don’t want you to touch me unless I say it’s okay. Isn’t that enough?”

“Okay. I mean, sure, that works for now.”

Theo’s eyebrows scrunched. “What does that mean, ‘for now’?”

“It means I get that you’re not comfortable telling me right now.”

Theo shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t have to justify to you why I don’t want to be touched.”

Trish studied Theo in that openly scrutinizing way that Theo disliked, the way Theo could see the gears turning behind Trish’s eyes and could guess what might be going through Trish’s mind and how Theo shouldn’t care but a niggle of apprehension shoved up against her rib cage from the inside as Theo tried to guess at the mental tally Trish was drawing up.

“Is this—” Trish gestured to the space physically separating her and Theo. “—as close as you let anyone get?”

Theo took a deep breath, shoulders squaring, and exhaled hard through her nose.

“Look,” Trish said, “I know you were blowing me off that first night. But then when you called me over again, I thought maybe, I don’t know, you wanted someone to talk to, someone to listen, and I thought maybe you wanted that person to be me. I know you were angry at the funeral but then . . . you actually answered some of my questions. Then you suggested that we go out some time, get a meal, so I thought . . . I thought maybe you might want more. Was I wrong?”

Theo stared up at the ceiling, then bowed her head. “Do we really need to define this? We can’t see where this goes?”

“Is this going anywhere? That’s what I’m asking. Because it kinda feels like every time I think you’ve opened a door, there’s another one directly behind it and I keep walking into them.”

Theo sucked in her breath through her teeth. “I don’t . . . do the dating thing that much . . . so I’m not . . . I’m not great at it.”

Trish nodded slowly. “I’m trying to understand you, Theo.”

“I don’t like to be touched without warning.”

“Okay.”

“For reasons.”

“Okay.”

“I enjoyed dinner with you tonight.”

“Okay.”

“I’d like to follow it with a nightcap.”

“Okay.”

“Is that enough?”

“Yeah. For tonight.”

Theo covered her face with a hand.

“This is who I am,” Trish said. “I’m curious.”

“I know,” muttered Theo.

“We can talk about something else.”

“. . . But you’re gonna want to talk about . . . other things.”

“Yeah. Eventually.”

Theo nodded, chin dimpling as she pouted in thought. “I know. I know, I do. I’m just not . . . ready to talk about certain things.”

“Okay.”

“So . . . my place?”

“You can come see mine.”

“No, I prefer my place.”

“Okay.” In Trish’s tone, Theo could hear Trish filing away the information, being indexed under things to ask about at some later time. “I’ll meet you there.”

Theo nodded. “See you there.”


	4. Chapter 4

Trish was stewing. It was the sharp breath she took and held, the tight line of her jaw, the flintiness of her gaze, the way she was trying to look through Theo as if only she could drill deep enough she could see all of Theo’s inner thoughts projected onto the back of Theo’s skull and discover all the thoughts she was trying to excavate via questions—that Theo was not answering.

It wasn’t cute. Theo would not have called it cute. But there was something about Trish being suspended a half a step away from anger and half a step away from bullish determination that deserved admiration, the taut control, that Theo had yet to discover the actual limit of Trish’s patience.

“What?” Trish demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Theo shook her head and turned away.

Trish muttered something. Theo couldn’t catch it. She wasn’t entirely sure it was in English. Trish sighed. “Sometimes I feel like I need to give you a questionnaire for acceptable topics of conversation.”

Theo laughed. “That is such . . . I mean, you might as well file for a grant to study me.”

“That’s tempting,” Trish said, a crack starting to deflate her anger—annoyance. “Maybe in a year, I’ll have enough for a chapter.”

“Please. My brother already wrote a book.”

Trish nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about reading it.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “It’s embellished. And not at all that accurate.”

“So the house wasn’t haunted?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Trish sighed. Her expression wasn’t quite disappointed. Not even exasperated. Resigned. That’s what it was.

Theo laced her fingers together, made sure the fit of her gloves was snug. “You know . . . most women would have run by now.”

“You mean from you?”

Theo shrugged.

Trish tilted her head back in contemplation. “You know this for a fact? Objectively? You have a data set proving it?”

Theo chuckled. “Jesus.”

“I’m serious,” Trish said. “How many ran versus how many people did you make run?”

Theo quirked an eyebrow but didn’t take the bait.

“You can ask,” Trish said.

Theo inspected the beer bottle in her hand. It was nearly empty. “Ask what?”

“Why I haven’t run,” Trish said, nonchalant. “Although I’m sure you have your theories.”

Theo fixed Trish with a flat look. Trish lifted her eyebrows.

In a bland tone, Theo said, “Why haven’t you run?”

“You keep inviting me back.”

Theo loosed a bark of laughter, startled into it. “Touché. I won’t ask again.”

Trish smiled, lighter than Theo thought appropriate. “No, seriously. You keep inviting me back. If you didn’t want me here, you wouldn’t keep asking me over.”

Theo took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe it’s just the sex.”

“Is it just the sex?” Trish asked.

Theo didn’t frown, but she nearly did so. At last, she said, “No.”

The word felt more honest than Theo wanted to feel.

“‘Kay. ‘Cause it’s not just the sex for me, either.”

Theo cocked her head. “It’s the sparkling conversation, right?”

Trish chuckled. “You can make conversation, you know that. You just don’t like to talk about yourself.”

“Yet that’s all you want to talk about,” Theo pointed out. “Am I just a nut to crack to you?”

“Is that what you’re worried about? That I’m just here to crack you, get a look at what’s inside, and then—leave?”

Theo’s expression blanked and she wished she had a joke at the ready, but there was a stretch of silence during which Trish simply looked at her, waiting.

Theo downed half of the beer’s remainder. “Most people with sound judgment would have never looked back after that first night, what with the way I walked you out.”

Trish nodded slowly. “You can’t figure out why I don’t have the good sense to walk away and I can’t figure out why you think someone wouldn’t want to stick around for you. I guess we’re at an impasse.”

Theo’s eyes cut across Trish’s gaze. Trish wasn’t angry, not like the lick of ire that was starting to curl in Theo’s stomach, and that was the frustrating and confusing (and, if Theo were honest, the hope-coaxing) thing.

“Why did you leave your phone number?” Theo wondered. “Why’d you come back when I called you?”

Trish inhaled deeply and settled into the seat, slumping a little bit. “Have you ever met someone and just knew they were going to mean something to you?”

“No,” Theo said flatly.

Trish smiled, a self-deprecating cut of her lips. “Then I can’t explain it to you. That’s how I felt.”

“You trust your gut that much?”

Trish lifted an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like you’re always feeling people out. The night we met. The way you looked at me. I felt like you were dissecting me. It felt like a test. It was so intense.”

Theo made a small sound that wasn’t quite acknowledgement. She didn’t know how she looked at people. It’s not like she studied herself in a mirror looking at people. “That didn’t weird you out?”

“It was hot,” Trish said with a little shrug. “You were hot. You knew it. That’s the thing, it was like—”

“Like what?”

“It was like . . . I couldn’t tell you if you didn’t care about anyone’s opinion or if you knew all the rules and exactly how to win.”

Theo grinned. “Sociologist. Always thinking about the outside factors.”

“No one’s an island.”

“Is that why you keep asking about my family?”

“No, that’s just straight up curiosity,” Trish said. “I just want to know about your family.”

“Well,” Theo said with affected brightness, “nearly half of them are dead.”

“I’m sorry,” muttered Trish.

“Not your fault,” Theo said.

Trish’s eyes swept over Theo. Her eyes were kind. It was nearly unbearable.

“It’s not easy for me to talk about,” Theo said. “It’s not about whether anyone’s dead or alive, I don’t . . . air family business.”

Trish smiled. “I get it.”

Trish did. Theo knew that. She’d gotten impressions of confidences entrusted and kept, a cloud of silences and . . . shames. Maybe that was why sometimes it felt like Theo could answer the questions Trish posed.

Trish glanced at the clock. “I should get going.”

It was a question. Trish would stay, if Theo invited. But Theo felt tired. She didn’t feel like kissing away all of Trish’s loud thoughts into distraction. She didn’t feel like she could muster the energy to distract herself.

Theo nodded. “Yeah, it’s getting late.” She got up and waited by the door for Trish to pull on her coat. As Trish prepared to step out, Theo hesitated. “You, uh, mentioned there was a decent . . . phở restaurant in town? You want to go sometime this week?”

“Yeah? You want to go?”

Theo smiled tightly. “Sure.”

Trish smiled. “‘Kay.”

Theo hesitated, then kissed Trish, quick, almost furtively. When she pulled away, Trish's mouth stretched in a small smile. “‘Night.”

“Good night.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Sorry to bring you another one,” Trish said apologetically as she held out a dirty plate. “Are you sure you don’t need any help with the dishes or anything?”

“No, no,” said Shirley, accepting the dish, “it’s fine. I’ll be right out in a second.”

“Okay,” Trish said slowly. She took a step back then shifted her weight back toward Shirley. “Dinner was lovely, thank you.”

Shirley smiled. “Thank you. I think you may have enjoyed it more than anyone else at the table.”

“The kids didn’t seem that thrilled with the Brussels sprouts, but I guess that’s normal?”

Shirley lifted an eyebrow. “Did you like Brussels sprouts as a kid?”

“My family didn’t eat Brussels sprouts,” Trish said with a smile. “Tons of other things that would probably gross out your kids more than Brussels sprouts, though.”

“Like what?” Shirley asked, then quickly added, “Or do I not want to know?”

“Probably not,” Trish conceded. “Not so close to having just eaten.” Trish paused, gaze sweeping across the kitchen, not as if she were seeing it, but as if suddenly remembering where she was. “Let’s just leave it at interesting things.” She smiled to herself. “Thank you for having me over. I didn’t want to impose but Theo . . . insisted? Not really insisted, she said you wouldn’t mind.”

“I told her to invite you,” Shirley assured Trish. “I’m glad to finally meet you. Formally.”

Trish breathed a sharp chuckle. “Likewise.” Trish hesitated. “I take it this isn’t usual? For Theo?”

Shirley smirked. “What gave it away?”

“Just a vibe, I guess.”

Probably the way Shirley had been keenly, cheerfully interested in their dinner guest. Or maybe the way Theo had been at times eager to head off questions, though Trish hadn’t seemed to mind. On the contrary, Shirley had watched Trish watch Theo in the pause before beginning her answers, had felt the way Trish’s eyes had genially assessed her.

It was weird to think that Trish of all people, openly observing, would be the type to attract Theo.

Shirley nodded. “I hope you didn’t feel uncomfortable.”

“Not at all,” Trish said, quickly. “It was . . . interesting.”

Shirley bet.

“And you and your family have been nothing but welcoming,” added Trish quickly. “Are you sure don’t need any help?"

Shirley chuckled. It was funny that at the end of one meal Trish had offered twice to help and regular diner Theo had yet to volunteer. "No, I’m fine. But—would you like dessert? Allie is probably going to ask about it soon. We have ice cream, pie, or cookies.”

“Allie, doesn’t pie sound better than cookies?” inquired an approaching voice.

“No! Cookies are better!” Allie’s higher voice insisted.

Theo poked her head into the kitchen. “We’re here for pie and cookies.”

Shirley eyed her little sister. “I’ll leave it up to you.”

Theo smiled tightly, her eyes asking Shirley what had delayed Trish in the kitchen. She dropped the silent inquiry and turned to Allie. “Can you bring out the cookies? I’ll grab plates for everyone and—” She looked to Trish inquisitively. “—Trish can bring out the pie?”

“Who will get the milk?” Allie asked.

“Jayden can get the milk,” Theo suggested.

“Jayden!” Allie called for her big brother. “Come get the milk!”

“What?” floated from the family room.

Trish stood uncertainly until Theo put the pie in her hands.

“There’s ice cream,” Shirley informed Theo.

Theo shot Trish a look of question as she handed down the plate of cookies to Allie. “A la mode?”

Trish shook her head.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” crowed Allie.

“Okay, okay,” Theo said, giving Trish a gentle push on the small of her back to direct Trish to follow Allie. “Just set it on the table. I’ll be right behind you.” Theo lingered, turned to Shirley, and pitched her voice low. “Were you nice?”

“Who do you think I am?” Shirley said. “You?”

Theo smirked.

“She’s nice, Theo,” Shirley said quickly.

Theo pulled down plates from a cupboard, forks from the drawer, and a knife from the rack. "I know." She shot Shirley a look before beating a quick exit. "Aren't you worried for her?"

Shirley glanced after her sister, who was gone before Shirley could reply, and shook her head. Shirley thought about it, though, and found that, no, she wasn’t worried. Maybe Theo was. But Theo would get over it.

If Theo let herself.

Huh.

It sure had been an interesting night.


	6. Chapter 6

Trish found Theo squirreled away at the end of the bar. Alone. Maybe lonely. But for the company of a Long Island Iced Tea. (Theo thought she’d mix it up.) Though that wasn’t why Theo had come to the club, or rather not the reason she’d thought she was coming here. She’d wanted the music and the dance floor and she wanted the relentless bass and the atmosphere to pass over her and through her and carry her someplace else, someplace that wasn’t in her own skin and in her own head and in the past that informed all the lacking elements of her present. She’d thrown herself into the crowd for a bit, but the vibe was all wrong, as if everyone on the floor were desperate, or maybe it was her. Now she was here at the bar. Alone.

Trish appeared and simply claimed the empty stool next to Theo, crossed her arms upon the bar counter, and looked at Theo. Theo gazed back. She felt . . . loose.

“Hey,” Trish said at last, at a volume to be heard over the music.

“Hey,” Theo shouted back.

“You okay?” Trish asked.

Theo shrugged, lifted the glass to her lips, and sipped. Trish eyed the glass.

“Have you been here long?” Trish asked.

Theo shook her head vaguely. “What time is it?”

Trish didn’t consult any time-keeping devices. “Almost eleven.”

Theo grinned a laugh. “Fuck.” She nudged a coaster around. “What are you doing here?”

Trish regarded Theo for a time. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“Dinner? With my friends? I told you about it last week. I reminded you last night. That’s why I texted you around eight to ask where you were?”

Theo blinked very slowly. “Aw. Fuck.”

Yup, that expression on Trish’s face was what disappointment looked like.

“I’m sorry,” Theo said. Fuck, she actually felt it. Theo shoved her hair back. “I’m sorry, Trish. I’m so sorry.”

Trish bit her lower lip, shook her head minutely. “How many of those have you had tonight?“

The smart ass answer leapt to Theo's lips— _a Long Island Iced Tea? Only one_ —but Trish's expression checked the reflex. She knew what Trish was asking. "I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

“Are you driving?” Before Theo could respond, Trish said, “I’ll take you home tonight. We can come back tomorrow and get your car.”

It wasn’t just disappointment in Trish’s eyes. It was . . . sorrow.

Theo swallowed. “I’m sorry.” She lay her fingers against Trish’s cheek and inhaled, as if drawing in Trish’s scent, though she was too far away. “Don’t look at me like that. Please.”

Trish hesitated, then reached up and covered Theo’s hand with her own. “What’s going on?”

Theo sighed. “Why do you feel like that?”

Trish paused. “Like what?”

Theo briefly closed her eyes. “Warm.”

Trish smirked, some of the tension and annoyance seeping out of her body language. “Because I’m alive?”

Theo shook her head. “Like a blanket.” She traced Trish’s jaw, Trish clinging loosely to her hand. “My mom gave me gloves to keep me warm.” Theo said it lowly, so that the words never reached Trish, but Trish asked Theo to repeat it, putting her ear close to Theo’s mouth. Then, because it had been at the back of her mind all day, Theo added, “Today’s the anniversary of her death.”

She could have phrased it a lot of ways. In her head, in all the years past, Theo had said it in all the ways to herself. It was the day her mom died. The day her mom committed suicide. The day her family fell apart. The day everything stopped making sense. The day her father became a stranger. The day she realized she had to look out for herself. It was a day like any other day, just a date on the calendar, that’s what she told herself, that’s how one moved on, and sometimes that worked and it came so close to being just another day—but _this_ day she thought about Nellie and her father and it wasn’t just Olivia Crain, anymore, it felt like this widening chasm that was slowly and inexorably going to swallow everything and Theo should have been able to block out its noise but today it had clamored, shrieked, and screeched at the back of her mind and she’d moved through the day in a haze until she’d wound up in this place, in this club, at this bar, alone, having forgotten—

Forgotten everything here. In the present.

God, Trish looked sad. Trish was saying something. Theo had missed it, but for the last part.

“You shouldn’t do this to yourself, Theo.” Trish searched Theo’s eyes. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

Trish summoned the bartender to close the tab, bundled Theo into her car, and drove Theo home in a rare silence that felt thick and soupy, where it felt like floating through the darkness. Trish walked close to Theo from the car to the door, not touching Theo but close enough to leap to any needed aid—which wasn't needed. Once inside, Theo took Trish’s hand and gazed at her and Trish gazed back, looking somehow sadder by the second.

“Trish . . .” Theo murmured.

Trish closed her eyes, opened them, took Theo’s face between her hands, and kissed Theo gently. Theo responded with urgency, but Trish pushed against Theo’s shoulders with gentle pressure.

“No,” whispered Trish.

Theo’s brow contracted with consternation and she tried again. Trish didn’t budge.

“No, Theo.” Trish’s gaze was steady. “I love you and I hate seeing you do this to yourself.”

Trish’s words twisted something in Theo. It expanded up from Theo’s gut and pushed out against her ribs and lodged in her throat, ballooning, until it burst—into a soft, shuddering sob. It hurt. Her mom’s death hurt. And Nellie’s death. And her dad’s. And this, having to feel, having to accept that she felt, that it was painful, ached and burned, and the tears were hot on her cheeks. Two arms reached slowly around her, gingerly, and Theo’s first instinct was to thrash and run, but she fought it down, focused on the soft shushing in her ear, closed her eyes and anchored herself to the sound, and let herself feel—

Warm.

Why was it that Trish felt that way?

Warm.

Theo pressed her face into Trish's shoulder. Trish rocked Theo slowly, experimentally, smoothing Theo’s hair with a hand.

“It wasn’t fair,” Theo told her.

“It wasn’t,” Trish agreed.

“I miss her,” Theo admitted in a hush.

“You loved her,” Trish said.

Theo let the tears flow silently for a time. “Yeah. But it hurts.”

Trish nodded. After a time, Theo quieted in Trish’s embrace. Trish pulled back cautiously. She wiped Theo’s cheeks and brushed back her hair. Their gazes brushed, Trish searching, Theo dulled. Theo felt drained.

“Stay?” Theo asked. “Just . . . stay the night?”

Trish nodded. “Okay.” Her eyes were soft. The words she had said earlier lingered in her regard. She drew Theo down and kissed her cheek softly, then her lips, so much more softly. Tenderly.

Theo’s lip trembled briefly, but she didn’t cry again.

Trish made Theo drink a glass of water, then change into clothes more comfortable for sleep. They climbed onto the separate sides of the bed, drew up the covers, and then lay still, as if afraid to disturb the mattress. Theo lay on her side and looked at nothing.

“Trish?”

“Hm?”

“Hold me?”

There was a pause and for a second Theo thought maybe Trish thought she was playing a trick or issuing a test when neither of those things were the case, but then the mattress dipped and shifted, an arm slipped over Theo’s waist, and she felt—

Warm.

*

The aroma of coffee roused Theo to a state between pleased anticipation and head-pounding nausea. With a grimace she buried her face into the pillow and swallowed against the rebellion of her stomach.

"Hey," said a soft voice.

Theo started sharply and froze, the abrupt movement setting off a dagger's stab in her skull.

"You okay?" the voice asked, still pitched low. "Do you need to run to the bathroom?"

Theo cracked open a skeptical eye.

"Here," Trish said, holding out a hand. "This first. Then maybe coffee."

Theo reluctantly pushed up onto an elbow and squinted at Trish's hovering, pinched fingers. Trish waited until Theo's brain processed that Trish was waiting for her. Theo held her hand beneath Trish's and two white pills dropped into her palm. Trish held out a glass of water. The water felt good on Theo's throat but sat intrusively in her stomach; the pills followed with about equal success.

Trish pulled up one of the dining table chairs to the side of the bed and settled down with a mug to watch Theo boot up. Theo rubbed at her face and flopped back against the pillows.

"We have to get your car," said Trish. "I have to get to campus by ten."

"Aw, fuck," groaned Theo, blocking out the invasive light with a hand over her eyes. "What time is it?"

"About seven."

"Okay, okay," breathed Theo, "give me . . . give me fifteen minutes. Then I'll . . . get into the shower."

When fifteen minutes had passed Trish poured Theo a cup of coffee and for five minutes Theo held the mug and let the warmth seep into her hands, during which Theo managed to sit up, the aspirin quieted the offensive chemicals in Theo's bloodstream, Theo noticed Trish was fully dressed and ready with even a light application of makeup, and last night's memories unveiled a peppering of holes.

The coffee was really good, even with less creamer than Theo preferred.

"Thank you," Theo said, when her body felt settled. She didn't look at Trish when she said it. She didn't think about how Trish must have rooted around the cupboards for the grinds and the filter and the mugs, had moved about quietly in Theo's space as she'd slept, had, in fact, spent the night. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, I'm going to shower."

It was a strange moment to step out of the shower and realize Trish would be in the other room, to have a clearer head to face the decision whether to dress out there or retreat back into the privacy of the bathroom, and then to try to assure herself that this morning was not any different from any other of their previous encounters, that Trish could not see anything that Trish had not already seen, that the light of day did not illuminate any new aspects.

But it would be different. If Theo let it be.

Theo dressed almost obstinately, determined not to be hurried or self-conscious or hyper-aware of Trish's presence, keeping Trish out of the field of her vision as if that might mitigate Trish observing her. (But when Theo risked a glance, Trish was focused on her phone, frowning in concentration.)

When she was ready to go, Theo announced, "All set."

Trish glanced up and assessed Theo in a single glance. The corners of Trish's mouth curled up in a small smile, but it read somewhat tired.

It was quiet in the car, the radio murmuring NPR at a low volume. Theo stared at the window, trying to summon the events of the previous night, turning the piecemeal recollections over in her mind. She'd said a few things, Theo remembered that, but it wasn't what she said. It was always about what she hadn't, about all the things Trish picked up beneath Theo's sentences—things Theo didn't know if she wanted Trish to hear or not.

There was also the matter of something Trish had said. Three words. She'd said them without hesitation, matter-of-fact, like a simple truth presented as an explanation.

Theo hadn't dreamed that. Just like Theo really had asked Trish to stay the night. And Trish had stayed.

"There it is," Trish said. Trish pulled up next to Theo's Jeep and looked at Theo expectantly.

Theo gripped the strap of the seatbelt, then laid her hand on Trish's arm. "Thank you. For last night." She met Trish's gaze squarely. "I . . ." Theo wasn't sure how to finish the sentence, what she wanted to say, what she needed to say. "I'll do better."

Trish contemplated Theo's gloved hand. Trish covered it, stroking softly with her thumb, and nodded. She met Trish's eyes warily. "I know you mean that. About forgetting our dinner plans, at least. I understand what happened. I wish you'd told me sooner—but I'm glad to know now." Trish studied Theo. "That's not what I'm worried about."

Theo held Trish's scrutiny. "I don't get blasted every night, Trish."

"I know."

"Not even most nights."

"I know."

"Hell, I'm not even—" The rest of Theo's thought petered off pre-declaration as she realized it was true: She was spending less time seeking fleeting distractions, less time craving oblivion, less time passing evenings alone. Since she'd met Trish. Theo caught her breath and looked at Trish.

Theo almost said it. She felt the words crouched at the edge of her throat. But they felt new and large and strange and like the shape of them might strangle her if she spoke them into existence and instead of voicing them she let them suffocate the sharp words she might have said, would have said any other time before. Theo closed her eyes, breathed, and opened her eyes again. "I'm sorry," Theo said at last. "I didn't mean to worry you. I . . . I don't want to worry you."

The gears turned behind Trish's eyes. She was listening. To what Theo was saying. For what Theo wasn't saying. Trish was always listening for that. Then Trish smiled, the slight bow of her lips marked with fondness. Trish reached out, slow and deliberate to project her intent, and gently touched Theo's cheek. "Okay. Though . . . maybe I'll still worry." Trish's smile grew. "Just because."

Theo's lips mirrored Trish's and with the lift of her lips Theo felt lighter. She leaned toward Trish in a request for a kiss and Trish obliged her with what felt like a balm of forgiveness.

"Thank you," whispered Theo.

Trish kissed Theo again in reply.


	7. Chapter 7

Theo set down the last of the dirty dishes by the sink and then leaned against the edge of the counter. Shirley reduced the stack of plates by half in silence, not quite acknowledging Theo's unbudging presence until she asked, "Would you like to help?"

Theo's eyebrows quirked. "Would you like help?"

Shirley shrugged. There wasn't much washing left to do. "No, I got it."

Theo nodded. To judge by the manner Theo was nursing the last of the wine in her glass, it wouldn't surprise Shirley if Theo offered up the task of emptying her glass so Shirley could wash it as a contributing service. The atmosphere was almost comfortable, almost like the ease of before—if not for the lingering knowledge of what they'd said, those exchanges they still hadn't discussed and probably were never going to. It was easier to let time erode the edges of those words and relegate the sting into distant memory. A sense of truce lay between them, strewn with eggshells, but there nonetheless.

They were still sisters.

Shirley scanned Theo's expression, faraway in introspection.

"What's up?" Shirley asked. "Something going on?"

Theo frowned. "Is there any wine left in that bottle?"

Without waiting for an answer, Theo stepped around Shirley to investigate and emptied the remainder of the white wine into her glass to bring it up to half full. Hefting the refill, Theo settled on Shirley's other side, as she had on countless evenings. Staring off in the direction of the dining room, Theo said, “Trish told me she loves me.”

Shirley's hands stilled.

Theo's eyes cut toward Shirley, away again. “I mean, I knew. I knew she felt that way. Feels that way. She just hadn’t said it.”

Shirley's hands resumed their work in a slow, meandering rhythm. “What did you say?”

Theo shook her head.

“You didn’t say anything?” Shirley said, too quickly to rein in her shock.

Annoyance twisted Theo's mouth, but her expression skirted troubled. "It wasn't really—" Theo shook her head. "She probably didn't expect a response at the time."

"Okay," Shirley said slowly.

"Besides," said Theo, sending Shirley a wary glance, "how do you tell the difference between love and gratitude?"

"You mean . . . in general?" Shirley shook her head. "What do you mean?"

Theo stared hard at nothing, features pinched. "What if . . . I'm just grateful that she didn't give up with me? How do I know I'm not just . . . trying to repay her for being patient?"

Shirley exhaled long and silently. Theo's expression conveyed she was posing the question in earnest—of herself, of Shirley. But Shirley wasn't the psychologist in the room. She had no idea what Theo wanted to hear. Was that even how to approach an answer? Shirley didn't know. This wasn't like anything Theo had asked before—or anyone, really. Nellie had been so in love with Arthur and he had so openly adored Nellie that there'd never been a question in Shirley's mind how they'd felt about one another. Whereas Theo . . . well, Shirley had watched the pussy parade come and go.

Yet Shirley knew what Theo meant.

Shirley hedged. "That’s . . . not nothing."

Theo sighed. She raised the wine glass to her lips.

Shirley backtracked. “What I mean is that . . . you’ve never talked about anyone else before.”

Theo seemed to take her time swallowing. “. . . Yeah.”

Shirley cocked an eyebrow. “. . . Do you love her?"

Theo squinted ahead. “How did you know you wanted to marry Kevin?”

A laugh caught in Shirley's throat. “Wow, that is not what I asked.”

Theo turned to face Shirley. “I know. I meant how did you know he was the one? How did you know you loved him?”

Shirley gauged Theo's scrutiny. Theo wasn't teasing. Her gaze passed over Shirley intent, expectant. Shirley took a deep breath. “He laughed at my jokes. He laughed a lot, actually. And he made me laugh. And feel safe. He’s . . . steady. Reliable. He . . ." Shirley shrugged. "He was always my friend. And my partner.”

Except when Kevin hadn't consulted her about taking the money from Steve. But that wasn't worth mentioning. She and Kevin had had that conversation. Among others.

Theo nodded and cradled the wine glass against her chest.

Shirley leaned her forearms on the edge of the sink. “By saying she loves you, Trish isn’t asking you to marry her, Theo.”

“I know.”

“So why are you leapfrogging ten steps ahead?”

“I can’t think about it?”

“I think you should be able to tell her that you love her before you think about marrying her.”

Theo smiled on a soft harrumph. “Would you like her as a sister-in-law?”

Shirley's eyebrows twitched. “I don't know if I know her that well yet to say one way or another. She seems nice. She's always polite when she comes over. Can't complain about that." Shirley smirked. "I think Allie likes her a lot. She might have even won Jayden over when they were playing . . . whatever that game is.”

"Fortnite. I don't know what it is, either, but Trish tried to explain it to me." Theo's mouth jerked at the corners into a smile. “You know, as in-laws go, I like Leigh and Kevin.” She paused. “I liked Arthur, too.”

Shirley nodded slowly.

Theo shrugged. “I’d like to choose someone who would be welcomed into the family."

Shirley snorted. "You're not choosing an in-law, Theo, you're choosing a spouse—a partner. For you. The rest of us would be happy knowing you're happy. Hell, I’m thrilled you might actually be in a committed relationship.”

Theo chuckled. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's a thing, huh? Maybe we’ll just see how well that goes first.”

Shirley smiled. “It’s a good first step. You've come pretty far already.”

Theo smirked in concession. “Yeah.”

Shirley flicked on the faucet and assaulted the suds. She moved with deliberate care, concentrating hard on each dish as it slotted into the dish rack, chasing a thought around her head. Shirley dared a glance at Theo. "Did you . . . have you really known that she loves you?"

Theo smiled to herself, mirth in her eyes as if Shirley had told a joke. "Did you know that Kevin loved you or did you only know when he said it?"

Shirley rolled her eyes. "Forget I asked."

Theo bowed her head, gaze fixing unseeingly on the floor. Voice lowering, she said, "Yes. I knew. In the way you're asking." She surveyed Shirley out of the corner of her eye. "By touching her."

Shirley met Theo's gaze at an oblique angle. They'd never spoken about this. Shirley had never wanted to speak about this. "You can feel that?"

"With Trish, yeah."

"What does that mean?"

Theo sighed. "It means . . . I can't control what I get from people. In terms of . . . emotions or impressions or whatever. I'm just a . . . receiver, an antenna picking up signals. But like one you can't adjust. I can't tune in or change the channel or anything like that."

Shirley tried to find a room for a drinking glass on the rack. "So . . . you have no idea what will happen when you touch someone?"

"That's right," deadpanned Theo.

"I've seen you touch people," Shirley said with caution. "Deliberately."

Theo turned to face Shirley squarely. "Sometimes I don't have a choice. Sometimes it's . . . safe." Theo's eyes drilled through Shirley. "Or I want to."

Shirley slowed her breaths into even intervals. "And the whole time you're . . . receiving things?"

"There's not exactly an off switch." Theo smiled. It wasn't nice. "You think I want this? You think I like being like this?" Theo shook her head. "It's what the gloves are for, Shirl. So I'm not invading you and you're not invading me."

The dishes were done. Shutting off the faucet invited a sudden, ear-clogging silence into the kitchen. "So it's different with Trish?"

Theo contemplated the depths of the thin amount of wine at the bottom of her glass. If an answer lurked there, it went down Theo's throat in a gulp. Voice husky, Theo said, "Not different like the result is different when I touch her, different like . . . different like she feels different."

"But what does that mean?"

Theo grimaced at the wine glass. "She feels warm." Theo lifted her head. "She's warm and somehow she makes me feel warm. That's the only way I can describe it."

As opposed to cold, like ice, the way Theo had described Shirley. With a deep breath, Shirley told herself to listen. "That's not the way it's like with most people?"

Theo put the empty glass down and crossed her arms. Shirley swiped the glass off the counter. It was washed, rinsed, and dripping in the rack before any answer issued from Theo. The rubber gloves clung to Shirley's skin as she pulled them off.

"I haven't talked about this before, Shirl," Theo said in a hush. Her eyes assessed Shirley warily. "I don't . . . I don't want to talk about it."

Shirley's chin dimpled. It wasn't a rejection, it was Theo being Theo, when did Theo ever tell anyone anything, but it felt like a rebuff and an unjust one considering that Theo had presumed to psychoanalyze Shirley once. Keeping her tone even but soft, Shirley said, "That doesn't really seem fair."

Defensiveness flared in Theo's eyes. Arms curling tighter about her torso, Theo said, "I don't think being forced to live the way I do is fair."

Shirley turned away. A minute's time out imposed silence in the kitchen. Shirley tacked. "Does Trish know?"

Theo took a long time to reply. "No."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Theo wouldn't look at Shirley. "I don't know."

Shirley disguised a sigh. She chided herself not to judge. Shirley knew a thing or two about secrets.

"Mom knew," Theo said abruptly. "About me. She's the one who gave me the gloves in the first place." Theo shifted her weight. "She called it being 'sensitive.' She said Grandma Mary had been like that and that she was, too. Her migraines . . ." Theo shook her head. "She didn't really explain when we talked about it. She probably thought—" Theo cut herself off. She resumed, picking up a different thread, "Well, she thought maybe we all might be sensitive: you, me, Nellie."

Shirley's heart beat a little faster. Their mother had never mentioned anything like this to her, not that Shirley could remember. Shirley swallowed. "I'm not like that."

Theo closed her eyes briefly, forehead furrowing in concentration. "She said . . . she said you said interesting things in your sleep."

Shirley shook her head. "I talk in my sleep. That's normal. Kevin's always telling me that he has conversations with me."

Theo's gaze softened. At first Shirley interpreted Theo's look as condescension, but the longer they regarded one another it dawned on Shirley that it was something almost like commingled frustration and affection.

Theo nipped at her lower lip. "I asked her if Dad knew, about her being 'sensitive.' She said . . . sorta." Theo frowned. "I guess she hadn't told him. Not . . . explicitly."

"Is that why you didn't tell us?" Shirley ventured.

Theo eyed Shirley. "I tried telling you, in all sorts of ways. You didn't listen."

Fair. It was fair. Shirley took a deep breath. "I'm listening now."

"I'm not ready," whispered Theo.

In time, Shirley nodded. "Okay, Theo." She grabbed at a rag and wiped down the counter. "Word of advice, though? It's not good to keep secrets from your partner."

Theo hugged herself. "She'll look at me differently."

"She might," agreed Shirley. "But it's better than pretending—potentially a lifetime of pretending if you're thinking about marrying her." A hint of a smile seized Shirley's mouth. "You're still my sister. Nothing's changed on that count. Except maybe . . . now I'm starting to understand. Kinda like what happened at Nellie's wedding."

Theo shook her head in dismissal, an incredulous laugh sitting on her mouth.

"You know," Shirley said, undeterred by Theo's attitude, "you can talk to me. About anything."

The flash of skepticism that crossed Theo's face raised objection, but the long consideration that followed suggested perhaps the notion could be placed under review. Shirley hoped so. She hadn't been able to get the message through to Nellie—or maybe Nellie, like Theo, doubted Shirley meant it—and Shirley couldn't bear the thought of repeating that mistake.

Shirley was trying.

"C'mon," Shirley said, "let's see what the kids are up to. It sounds suspiciously quiet out there."

Theo stood rooted for a second, as if she hadn't heard Shirley. Then she said, "Thanks, Shirl."

Shirley didn't hug Theo, not with the topic of conversation abutting so close from behind, but Shirley hoped Theo sensed the sentiment of the unexpected impulse that swelled within Shirley.

Leading the way into the living room, Shirley asked, "So what else did Mom tell you? Did you ever ask Dad about it?"

Theo didn't have much more in the way of memories to offer, but Shirley listened to what her little sister had to say and the flow of communication between them felt, for the first time in a long time, unfettered and easy—possibly more so than it ever had.


End file.
